


Believe in Nothing

by allbam



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, relationships won't appear until much later in the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:31:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allbam/pseuds/allbam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were the bastards of Flea Bottom. One raised in a brothel, the other in a bar. Jon and Gendry were brothers in everything but blood, and when there was nothing to believe in, they believed in each other.</p><p>AU where R+L=J and Ned wasn't the one to discover his sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Name is Jon

**Author's Note:**

> I have always wondered how Jon and Gendry would interact with one another. This is pretty much the result in my mind.
> 
> Gendry doesn't appear until Chapter 2

The horses couldn't be settled. The two guards had halted for the better half of an hour in hopes that they would eventually be calmed, but as time passed, they only seemed to grow more restless. They found that closer they got to the outer edges of the city, the more their steeds seemed to shrink away.

It could not be blamed on the animals. The scent of death and filth clung to the air like a steadfast lover. There was nothing one could do but cover their mouth and bear it.

Still they rode on, intent on making it into King's Landing before the night was up. The knights had discovered something at the Tower of Joy that would serve nothing but to anger their new King. The form held close to the older guard's arms wiggled in the fine blanket they covered it with.

“Do you suppose that King Robert will reward us?” The younger of the two asked as they hastened their horses at the sight of the gates of King's Landing.

The older knight cast his younger companion a scornful look. “You think Robert Baratheon will reward us for bringing him not his intended, but her bastard son instead? You've gone soft in the head. We'll be lucky if he allows _us_ to walk away from his rage.” They were quickly waved through the gates at the sight of their guardsmen uniforms and were quickly in the heart of Flea Bottom.

“Kill us?” The younger one's eyes widened as he regarded his companion with a look of unadulterated fear. “You're saying that there's a chance we might die, handing this newborn over?”

The elder guard nodded grimly. “The bearer of bad news is also in danger of getting in trouble at times.” He glanced over at the novice and paused as he noticed the young man slowing his horse. “What are you doing?”

The younger knight's lips pulled down into a frown before he held out his hand to his senior. “Hand it over.”

Dark brows rose high. “Why?”

The young man leaned as close as his skittish horse would allow. “The babe. He doesn't hold any Targaryen traits. What's to say we simply don't report him?”

The elder man's jaw clenched. “What you're speaking of is treason.”

“Apparently what you're speaking of is suicide. Come on, don't you have a widow sister that you're supporting? If you were to go through with this, there's a chance that she'll end up nothing more than another whore in—.” The younger knight was cut off by the small bundle being pushed into his arms as swift as possible.

“Be done with it.” The elder man grunted before steering his horse towards the castle. “Don't linger. We need to figure out what to say before we have an audience with the King.”

“Very well.” He watched as his partner took off into the night and once he was out of sight he could only look to the babe in his arms. He stared for a good long minute as the blanket moved around, hiding the baby boy from sight until he forced himself to push the fine cloth aside and stare at the boy he was meant to abandon. As soon as the cover was moved away, large steel gray eyes stared back at him. It was unsettling, holding a babe that wouldn't cry or smile. He merely stared up at the young guard with as little expression as a newborn could manage. “So much fuss over so small a thing.” He dismounted as safely as he could and moved to the nearest rubbish pile. As he laid the babe down, he was once again taken aback at the bright eyes staring him down as he straightened up and felt the strange need to explain himself aloud. “I've seen a great deal of bad things happen to children and babes as of late. Surely this fate would be better than what King Robert comes up with for the heir of the Iron Throne. Good luck, little prince.” With that the knight turned away from the newborn, mounted his horse, and rode off without giving the little form another glance.

From there the babe remained for the better half of the night, and it wasn't until a whore returning to a nearby brothel stumbled on the garbage that he was noticed.

Half tipsy on the cheapest wine coin could purchase, the woman knelt next to the twitching swath of cloth and stared at it for a few moments before her hazy brain could comprehend what she was looking at. “Oh how lovely! Hello baby, I'm Rene!” Her shrill voice startled the boy and for the first time that night, a piercing wail escaped the newborn's chubby face.

Rene's delight was quickly replaced with a scowl as she flinched away from the uncomfortably loud noise. “Oh! I don't like tha' at all, child. Cut it out at once!” Even drunk, the whore was unsettled when the babe immediately ceased in its cries. She stared down at the baby and though she previously thought of picking the boy up, she was stopped by the pair of eyes staring up at her. Caught in the babe's snare, she didn't dare move for several minutes, and it was only the slam of a nearby door that could force Rene to look away.

“Rene!” A redheaded woman who looked to be no more than a decade older than Rene stepped out of the whorehouse and swiftly made her way over to the rubbish pile. “Why are you kneeling in the dirt, foolish girl? You still have two more men to tend to before you can call it a night.”

“L-Lady Harrow.” Rene was on her feet before it could even register to her brain, all sluggishness that she had gained through drink drained away at the sight of her matron. The woman was no lady by any standards of the title, but for as long as Rene could remember, that is what everyone in Flea Bottom and further still called her.

“Well?” Lady Harrow's arms were set on her hips, her stern expression only serving to set Rene's nerves on edge. “Why were you digging through the trash?”

The young whore edged out of the way and allowed her matron to feast on the sight of the newborn hidden within layers of covers. “Found this child 'ere in the trash.”

Lady Harrow's pale blue eyes assessed the situation as quickly as she could, glancing between Rene and the child a few times each before she strode forward and knelt next to the child just as Rene had done only moments before. She studied the newborn in silence, her body though lean, managed to hide the baby from Rene's sight for a few seconds more before she climbed to her feet and jerked her head towards the brothel. “Come along.”

Rene spared the child pitying glance as she moved to follow, only to halt in her steps as Lady Harrow's voice cut through the night.

“Bring the babe.”

Despite the many questions the young whore wished to ask her matron, she did as she was bade and moved back to the rubbish pile and lifted the baby into her arms as gently as she could.

Instead of nudging the young lady off to her customers, Lady Harrow motioned for Rene to follow her to her chambers. Once there, the woman slid the door shut behind her and motioned for Rene to place the babe on her bed.

As soon as Rene placed the baby on the bed, she was pushed aside and the redheaded female started to pull off the blankets the child was wrapped in. A small note fell out of the folds and fell to the bed. With curiosity raging within her, Rene glanced at it, only to feel a rush of disappointment as she inwardly cursed herself for not knowing how to read. It wasn't until Lady Harrow started to remove the baby's clothes that Rene managed to speak up.

“Lady Harrow..?”

The redheaded woman paused, as if just remembering Rene's presence and glanced over her shoulder. “What is it?” Her voice was not unkind, but there was a subtle warning there as well that the young woman immediately picked up on.

Despite the fear welling up within her at the sight of the woman's stony gaze, she gathered the courage to ask what was on her mind. “What are you planning on doing with the child?”

Lady Harrow turned to her and moved aside to allow the babe into Rene's line of sight. “This boy is of noble birth. His clothes and cleanliness attest to that. His blankets are the finest woven, and his hair is perfectly kept and he has a rosiness in his cheeks. This babe was well loved and surely not dropped here by his parents.” She motioned at the pile of blankets and clothes. “We will sell these and keep the boy ourselves. Judging by the paleness of his skin and the crimson of his lips, he will be a beautiful boy and maybe even a handsome man. You and I will care for him and he will work off the food and board when he gets older.”

Rene's mouth opened wide, only to shut a few moments later. This was Flea Bottom. This boy was practically being given the moon as far as most children were concerned. She wished to ask the Lady dozens of other questions, but only one more escaped her mouth that night. “What will we call him?”

She missed the redhead's slight glance towards the small slip of paper that remained on the bed.

“His name is Jon.”

 


	2. Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry and Jon meet.

Gendry never believed in the Seven, nor any god fathomable, but he swears on all of them that if he doesn't get any food in his belly soon, he's liable to rip someone's head off.

It's already been a day and a half since he'd last had that bit of stale cheese and bread his mother had passed him, and he knew that he should have rationed it for the rest of the week, but he had been too hungry at the time to think it through. The boy grumbled under his breath as the noise of the bar steadily started to grow as the sun went down and could only tuck his knees closer to his body to ward off the chill in the air and the hunger pangs in his stomach.

The back alley in which he sat was empty for the most part; workers from another bar further down were throwing out a putrid smelling liquid and Gendry could only assume that it was old soup of some sort. Even with the rotten smell permeating the air, Gendry's stomach hummed with dissatisfaction and he could only curl into himself to keep the sounds at bay.

He remained on the back steps of the bar for most of the night, only moving when a high end patron would enter or exit through the alley way so as to not be seen entering such an establishment. Gendry was resigned to remain on the steps with an empty belly for the rest of the night, and it was only a commotion at the other end of the alley way that forced him to his feet.

“Give it 'ere, bastard. You're small and don't need much to survive. So hand it over.”

Three boys, taller and older if Gendry was so inclined to check, towered over a slender waif of a child that he recognized as a fellow Flea Bottom inhabitant. The whorehouse seven buildings away, he discovered later.

Gendry wasn't usually one to go out of his way to save others, but it hadn't taken long for the hunger in his belly to directly affect his mood. He was itching for a fight and three against two were odds that were quickly growing more attractive by the moment.

“Come on bastard! Just hand it 'ere and we'll let you go without more than a bruise or two.”

As he slowly approached the group, he recognized the three troublemakers as boys that lived near the docks. He watched as they shoved the impossibly tiny child into the wall and allowed his rage to wash over him. _Who do these fish-faced cunts think they're messing with? They can't just come into the city and steal my people's food!_

He didn't hesitate to knock over a couple of empty crates to draw their attention. “Oi!”

The three sour faced sods turned around to catch sight of the new comer. The leader of the two spared the boy behind them a warning glare before he turned to Gendry and allowed his lip to curl into a snarl. “What do you want, gutter rat? This 'ere got nothing to do with you.”

Gendry was already tall for his age, and he was already stronger than most children due to the fact that he was required to help bring in crates full of ale each morning since his sixth name day passed. Given the fact that he was already in a bad mood, it didn't take much prompting to put on his meanest face and direct it towards the older boys. “Listen up twats, I'm not going to waste my breath so you best listen and understand.” He stepped up to the tallest of the three, staring unblinkingly into those dark depths. “This is my alley way and if you want to go messing with my people, you've got to go through me first.”

“Oh yeah, and how do you think you'll be able to stop us?” One of the others—a rather tall boy—intoned.

“Easy.”

They didn't see it coming. His hand, already clenched in his anger, smashed into their leader's stomach, sending the older youth to his knees. Gendry turned with a manic grin angled at the two that remained. “I'll just have to show you a thing or two so that you'll know better next time.”

The gaunt one standing the furthest from Gendry took one look at their leader and was halfway down the street by the time Gendry or the tall one realized he had gone.

“Not really a loyal bunch, are you?” Gendry asked with a dark brow raised high and a slight sense of disappointment. He knew a hopeless cause when he saw it; he wouldn't have the fight he wanted that night.

“Shut your mouth, gutter rat.” The tall one snarled as he knelt and struggled to help the tall leader to his feet. “This isn't the end of this 'ere.” He glanced over his shoulder at the tiny child behind them. “And you best believe that we'll be back, little bastard.”

Gendry sneered as he leaned forward and delivered a swift kick to the mouthy boy's ass. “Don't forget to visit me first.” He ignored the jaunts sent his way and as soon as they turned the corner, he turned and finally got a good look at the boy they were troubling.

He really was a little thing. Shorter than Gendry and far skinnier as well. He wore pretty black swaths of cloth that made his pale skin and flushed red cheeks stand out. Lush black hair spilled down to his shoulders and large obsidian hues were peering up at Gendry with an unreadable emotion. He looked to be just about skin and bones, his face pale with a solemn expression.

_He can't believe that I plan on picking up where those twats left off, could he?_ Gendry huffed at the thought of being pulled down to their level and took a pointed step away, folding his hands across his chest as he did so. _No matter how hungry I am, I'm not going to take something from someone who needs it more._ “Are you alright? Why were they hounding you?”

“I am fine.” The voice was unusually elegant for Flea Bottom, but Gendry ignored it as the boy reached into the folds of his pretty clothes and pulled out a decently sized loaf of—fresh—bread. “They wanted to steal this.”

Gendry shook his head in disbelief. “Where did a little thing like you get that? It's not even burnt!”

The boy pushed himself off of the wall, his face flushed and his brows pulled down in what Gendry assumed was supposed to be anger. “I am not little! In just a few name days, I'll be tall and handsome.” He asked in muted tones, completely ignoring the question.

“Most likely more than a few name days.” Gendry chuckled. “How old are you anyways? My sixth name day just passed.”

The boy's back straightened, his face practically glowing with pride. “My seventh name day is in three months.”

Gendry's jaw hung loose with shock coursing thorough him. “You're older than me.” He murmured, taking the time to look over the smaller boy's body. “You need to eat more if you ever hope to get bigger.”

“I know.” The boy blinked as he stared up at Gendry from under his lashes. He seemed as if he were mulling over making a decision before he held out his hand to the taller boy. “I'm Jon.”

Gendry stared down at the hand with a brow raised high. People of Flea Bottom rarely shook hands, one never knew when a pickpocket would strike, yet he didn't see the harm in humoring Jon. He reached out and took the smaller hand in his own, once again reminded with the frailty of the older boy as he shook it. “Gendry.”

A shy smile appeared on the boy's face as he sat down with his legs crossed under him. “Thanks for helping me out with those dock boys.” Before Gendry could protest, Jon tore his bread into two parts and passed the larger half towards the taller boy. “I would have gotten in trouble with Lady Harrow if I came back with bruises.”

Gendry vaguely recognized the name Jon mentioned as he frowned down at his portion of the bread. From what he could see, Jon needed all he could eat, but Gendry wasn't fool enough to turn away food. “I'm not going to say no to this as your token of thanks, but here,” he snatched the smaller portion from Jon's hands and replaced it with the bigger piece, “you should have more if you're to grow properly.”

Jon's large eyes were on him again. Gendry shifted uncomfortably when he was given a genuine smile, one that made the smaller child's eyes brighten. “Thank you.”

“It's your food.” Gendry muttered as he glanced away to stare down at the bread. _I should save this._ He thought. _I don't know when I'll eat again._ The smell wafted up and assaulted his nose with the scent of just how fresh it was—fresher than anything Gendry has ever had—and his mind was yelling at him to at least taste it as it was meant to be tasted.

As he struggled with his inner musings, Jon dined on his own, quickly scarfing the larger portion down.

Gendry could see him licking his fingers for a hint of the sweet taste out of the corners of his eyes and struggled not to do the same with his own.

“Why aren't you eating?”

Gendry tore his eyes away from his bread and down to the boy sitting propped up against a grimy wall that has most likely seen piss at one time or another. “I might need to save it.”

Jon's brows raised. “Why?”

Gendry felt a rush of irritation. “'Why?'” He mocked with a frown. “I don't know when I might get to eat again, Jon. Why are you asking me why? Haven't you ever gone without eating?”

Jon's mouth dropped open and he quickly shook his head in a muted no.

“No?!” He couldn't believe it. There was no way that a child has eaten every meal of his life—not a child from Flea Bottom. “How?” He kept a firm grip on his bread as he folded his arms across his chest and peered down at the seated child. He couldn't wait to hear Jon's 'explanation'.

Jon's scrawny shoulders gave a halfhearted shrug. “My caregiver Rene taught me how to be charming. Since I was a babe she's told me that pretty looks and sweet words could get you anything.” His legs unfolded from beneath him and he protectively drew them to his chest. “She said that the longer I lived and the more I ate at the brothel, the longer I would have to work for Lady Harrow when I got older. She said that she didn't want me working there for long, so she taught me how to be charming so that I could get food from other places.

“I charmed the baker's wife. She gives me fresh bread if her husband is out. If he's in, he'll allow her to give me the burnt portions. I charmed the butcher's daughter. She's his only child, so if she asks him, he'll give me the parts of beef that others won't eat—intestines, and other innards. I charmed a fisherman that lives on the outskirts of town. His son died at sea. If I stay long enough to listen to his stories, he'll send me back with a fish or two. Rene cooks meat well for us when I bring it.

“Those are only a few of those who I can go to for my meals.” Jon ducks his head. “I don't beg, so I’m not ashamed of what I do. Sometimes they can't give me food, so when that happens, I eat what Lady Harrow has to offer and add it to my growing tab.”

Gendry grunted at Jon's explanation, but a large part of him was impressed—meat, Jon ate actual meat—with the child, a smaller part jealous even, at how clever the smaller boy was. “That's a good skill to have, Jon.” He granted.

The boy's head lifted so fast that Gendry was surprised that his neck didn't crack with effort. “Really?” Jon asked; the boy bit on his lower lip, his entire body humming with energy.

Gendry flashed Jon a smile. “Yes, Jon. I don't waste my breath with lies when I can help it.”

Jon shot to his feet and before Gendry knew it, the smaller boy snatched at his wrist was leading him down the alley. “Go ahead and eat your bread.” He called over his shoulder. “You'll have more to eat soon enough.”

Gendry stared down at the boy leading him by hand and then down at his piece of bread. _It's freshly baked._ Though his mind rebelled against the thought of not saving it, he brought the bread to his mouth and bit off a healthy chunk.

Flavors exploded in his mouth. It was sweet, with no hint of the sour taste of the stale bread from two days back. The crust wasn't hard, but firm under his teeth, the subtle crunch making the experience all the more satisfying as it lead to the soft white innards. Before Gendry could really take the time to appreciate the taste as much as possible, it was gone. He followed Jon's example from before and licked at his fingers with the hope that some remnant of the taste had been transferred while holding the bread.

Once done, he noticed Jon staring at him with a pleased expression. “Good?” He asked softly as he led Gendry towards the market.

“Yes.”

Jon nodded. “Well, I know that most children of Flea Bottom are familiar with bowls of brown, but how would you like to taste real meat tonight?”

Words failed him.

Jon, fellow bastard of Flea Bottom, was surely a god.

But as Gendry does not believe in gods, he managed nonchalance where he felt none. “That should be good.” He answered.

He was ruined.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Seven Years Later...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter, but this is the point where the story needs to be for the next chapter.

Jon was surely a demon of some dark realm sent to ensure that Gendry never got a decent night of sleep.

Gendry groaned as he was shoved towards the wall yet again and after sleepily rolling over, he managed to crack open his eyes enough to catch sight of the smaller young man slipping under the thin itchy covers. It wasn't as comfortable as it had once been. Jon was correct all those years ago when he declared that he was to be tall and handsome. Jon was definitely both now, but Gendry too had grown as much; only where Jon was tall and slender, Gendry was towering and sturdy. His shoulders, which were already wide when they were children, had broadened with muscles brought with working at the forge for countless hours over the past few years. Even so, Jon settled in easily enough.

They lay in silence for a good moment and just as Gendry was about to give up on waiting for an explanation and allow himself to fall back into the welcoming arms of sleep, Jon gently nudged his arm.

“Gendry?”

 _I won't be getting any more sleep tonight._ The blacksmith's apprentice sighed deeply, briefly mourning the thought before focusing on the boy who had managed to become his best friend over the years. “What is it Jon?”

Jon briefly hesitated, his mauve eyes flashing in the dark. “I'm...I'm going to start working tomorrow night.”

Gendry sat up and turned to face the young man in one smooth motion, all sense of fatigue leaving him at once. His brows pulled together as he attempted to gauge Jon's feelings towards his announcement. As usual, his pale friend's face was devoid of emotion; Jon was most likely keeping his reaction in check to see how Gendry would feel.

With that thought in mind, Gendry's eyes fell from his friend and moved onto the wall as he tried to make sense of it all. They had always known that Jon would eventually start to work at Lady Harrow's brothel. They'd joke about it whenever Jon would come by the blacksmith's during the day and help Gendry out when he had the time...

“I thought that you weren't going to start until you turned fourteen.” It wasn't phrased as a question, but it was clear in his voice that he needed an answer from his friend. “You're supposed to have another month.”

“That was what we had planned...” Jon's hand twitched at his side, most likely trying to keep from his nervous habit of rubbing it against his opposite arm; as if it could keep Gendry from noticing. “Rene said that a lot of people have seen me around and have been asking after me,” his voice lowered, very nearly a whisper, “she said that there was a Lady who offered double the price of what our best are getting paid for my first time.”

Many emotions were roused at the information and it was difficult for Gendry to decide how to feel for Jon. As they've known what Jon's future profession entailed, they were well aware that he would fuck for coin, but they also knew that as a prostitute, Jon wouldn't exactly be able to choose his customers.

Many hours have passed while Gendry was toiling away at the forge with Jon tagging along for lack of anything better to do where they discussed the endless possibilities brought with the brothel-raised bastard's future profession. They've talked about the ladies, endless amounts of them _paying_ for the chance of laying with Jon, Gendry and Jon were admittedly tickled at the very thought, but then there was also the inevitable chance of a man taking a liking to the bastard.

Gendry wouldn't be surprised.

King's Landing had a wealth of various characters, each with their own distinct look and the way they held themselves. Even still, Jon was somehow unique. His thick hair was impossibly black, yet his skin was so pale it seemed as if it could reflect the light of the very moon. His face was nearly always somber, completely unmoved by the diversions Flea Bottom had to offer, but when he would smile, it was as if the whole street would stop and stare for such a rare and lovely sight. Jon was lightly muscled, as he had spent many days helping Gendry as much as he was allowed, but he was slender enough to still catch the eyes of many men while he walked the streets with Gendry.

Gendry frowned as he vaguely recalled a high class man who the other folk of Flea Bottom whispered to be known as Little Finger or something of the like approach Jon one evening while they were walking home from the forge. He had pulled Jon aside and made ridiculous propositions of paying off Jon's debt with Lady Harrow in exchange for Jon working in his own high class brothel.

Jon had, out of loyalty, declined, but the man had been persistent. Gendry knows for a fact that the man still comes around every couple of months to make the same proposal and that Jon simply doesn't tell Gendry, knowing full and well that his best friend would feel angry on his behalf for such blatant harassment.

Gendry shook his head away from the slimy man before focusing on his friend once more. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Do you know who your first client will be?”

Jon nodded.

They both knew what Gendry was really asking.

“Lady Harrow has taken the Lady's request; the one who promised double payment. She's to be my first and only patron this night.”

Gendry felt something in him relax a little at the confession. Jon wouldn't have to be taken by a man this night. Gendry felt a little sick at the very thought of it—he's met a few prostitutes in his time who have been with very... _rough_ men, and he couldn't fathom the thought of one of them forcing the boy he had grown to see as his brother into such a vulnerable position. _It'll happen eventually,_ his traitorous thoughts chimed in, _you won't be able to do anything about it either because that's the hand Jon's been dealt._

“Gendry?”

He glanced up in time to see Jon chewing on his lower lip and forced himself to let the dark thoughts go for the time being. He eased himself back onto his back and folded his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. “So... a prostitute at the age of thirteen... Not much to say about it other than the fact that you'll be able to start paying off your debt soon.” He felt rather than saw Jon relax beside him.

“Yes...”

“You'll have to tell me all about it.” Gendry shifted as a cool breeze filtered in through the open space in the wall that allowed air to come through. His nose twitched as the stink of the city rolled in with the air but ignored it in favor of the calming feeling of the wind sweeping over his body. His eyes drifted shut and the only sound that filled his room were his and Jon's breathing.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

A muffled yelp startled Gendry from his sleep and the memories of the previous night immediately surfaced. Jon had come over, and was in his bed. He sighed and cracked open his eyes enough to see that he had rolled over enough to crush his friend and wasted no time in shifting back towards the wall with a grunt.

“You nearly crushed me.” Jon grumbled from somewhere under the covers.

“If you're looking for an apology, you're not gonna get one.” Gendry threw an arm over his eyes as the early light of the sun seemed to catch him in the worst way possible. “Especially as you're in _my_ bed, Jon.”

“You can't blame me.” Jon shifted around enough to force Gendry's eyes open in time to see the bastard poke his head out. “Lady Harrow charges me for room and board. If I stay here, she can't add another night of shelter to my debt.”

Gendry's eyes slid closed once more but didn't argue. He wasn't truly bothered, especially if it would keep Jon from owing Lady Harrow a small fortune in Flea Bottom standards.

They lazed about for a few long moments before the sounds of the movement in bar downstairs started to drift up. They were cleaning up before they could break their fast, and it was enough to put both boys to their feet. They'd get nothing if they didn't help out.

Gendry quickly dressed and was down the stairs before Jon could even tend to his shoes and was already mopping up a spectacular mess that a drunken patron no doubt left in the corner of the room. He caught sight of Jon making his way over and paused briefly when the older boy didn't grab a mop.

“I'm going to get us some bread.” Jon announced softly, glancing around the room to make sure that the other barmaids didn't overhear. “They've no doubt prepared something... filling to break our fast, but I'd rather not have a disturbed stomach on my first night.”

Gendry's stomach gave a hearty growl at the thought of the fresh bread that Jon would no doubt be able to procure, but forced himself to ignore the sound in favor of common sense. “You've really got to stop charming the baker's wife. It was maybe cute and all while we were younger, but you're getting older and taller, Jon. People are going to start talking pretty soon if they see you going into the baker's shop while he's out.”

“I would never do that and neither would she. She only sees me as a son she's never had.”

Gendry propped the broom up against the wall in favor of folding his arms across his chest. “You keep thinking that, Jon, but you'll see. One of these days, she'll make a move for your trousers.”

Jon flushed, the color stark against his pale skin, and before Gendry could poke fun at the young man, he turned away. “It'll take a while to get through the crowds. I'll most likely see you at the forge.” He murmured before slipping out the door.

Gendry smirked at the fact that there were still things that could make a brothel-raised boy blush, and picked up his mop. The urine wasn't going to clean itself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Overdue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Arryn goes to the blacksmith's shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Here's the next chapter!

The air was overwhelming, each breath seeming to bring with it the stench and taste of the lower city air. It was entirely too hot for the lavish clothes Jon Arryn chose to don that morning, and if he were down in the slums to follow his own whims, he would have immediately chosen to retreat and deal with his matters on another occasion.

Only he wasn't entering the lower city for himself. He was doing it for his King. For Robert.

He knew that there were consequences for what he had discovered in the book that he had inquired Grand Maester Pycelle for. Jon Arryn was not a fool and knew well whom Pycelle was truly loyal to. Stronger men had died from smaller theories, he was no different. The Lannisters would surely know by nightfall and his death planned by the week's end. And if he were to die for a theory, it would be better to have it confirmed for himself, if only for a peaceful death of knowing the truth. For Robert.

So the Hand of the King ventured further into what was commonly referred to as 'Flea Bottom' in search of the first of what was surely many of Robert's bastards. He had to see each of them to ensure that his findings were correct; it would not do for him to believe without proof, even if they were his own findings.

“ _Never jump to conclusions, boys. It is the surest way to finding yourself between a rock and a sword.”_

The corner of his lip twitched at the memory of his boys. He may not have been their father by blood, but he raised them with the love and firm hand of a true parent. It is for that bond that they have formed all those years ago that he now risked his life to discover the truth for his King.

Jon Arryn carefully weaved his way deeper into the throng of the morning crowd, ensuring to keep the folds of his robes firmly closed to keep any wandering hands from latching onto his coin purse. He made his turn onto the Street of Steel and allowed his hands to relax as he immediately spotted more than a couple of knights that were flitted about the street, making purchases of their own before duty called.

It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. The largest building on the street laid before him, ornate doors depicting a hunting scene and two stone knights protecting either side of the entrance were certainly fitting for the master armorer of Kings Landing.

Jon Arryn briefly recalled people mentioning the great work of this master armorer, yet he could not for the life of him drudge up the name. _I don't suppose it would be completely necessary for me to know his name. I've come too far in my findings to give up all at once._

Not more than a step or two closer to the blacksmith's shop than before, but already Jon Arryn could feel the intense heat from the blazing fire that was surely kept in the back of the shop. The scent of the city seemed to melt away the closer he moved towards the shop. The only thing that he could smell for certain was burning metal, a strange, coppery scent that was both like and unlike blood.

“Can I help you m'lord?” A man wearing clothes entirely too clean to have been doing any sort of physical work that morning stepped up to him, wizened old eyes on a man who was most likely a decade or two younger that Jon Arryn himself.

“Ah yes, I am Jon Arryn, Hand of King Robert Baratheon.” He knew well enough that the golden pin explained itself, yet he had never quite gotten over the habit of introducing himself by his title first; he nodded back when the master armorer bowed his head ever so slightly in respect. “I am here to inquire about your apprentice. Is he in today?”

The man's eyes narrowed, a hint of darkness nearing the edges of his mouth. “What has he done?” The question was measured carefully as to leave no hint of anger in his tone, but the master armorer's abrupt words were uttered so quietly it left no room for the imagination of how he truly felt.

“The boy has done nothing.” Jon Arryn grunted. “I merely wish to speak to him, the matters are my own, you see.” He added when the armorer opened his mouth presumably to ask after the purpose of the visit. It wouldn't do to have too many people knowing the King's business, especially over matters as personal as this.

“...Very well, m'lord.” The man's eyes slanted off to Jon Arryn's side, most likely another customer approaching, before nodding back towards his shop. “He'll be in the back, tending to the fire.”

“Good man.” Jon Arryn hummed his thanks, which was ignored in favor of the customer with a bag full of coin. Were he further from discovering the truth for himself, he would have minded, but as it were, he was ready to set his eyes on Robert Baratheon's oldest bastard, as far as they knew.

The heat seemed to be thicker as he ventured further into the blacksmith shop, and aside from brushing his sweat off with the cuff of his sleeve, he didn't waver from his quest.

He ducked through a narrow row of dense glistening chainmail, even spotting one or two bodies of scale armor that had to be older than himself as he passed, and he was only rewarded once he broke through the line to the other side.

The child had his back to Jon Arryn, but that black hair, those broad shoulders, even the way he held himself simply screamed Baratheon. He could only imagine how much he took after Robert. The Hand of the King opened his mouth and moved to step forward.

“Gendry!”

The young bastard immediately turned towards the source of the call.

“Jon! Where 'ave you been? Thought you'd be back sooner!”

Jon Arryn's breath stuttered. His hand twitched at his side and shook all the way up his chest as he held it strong against his heart, just to ensure that it was still beating.

Just to ensure that he hadn't died and awoken in one of his fondest memories.

Gendry Waters looked almost exactly as Robert had as a child of the same age, only where Robert's eyes had always been glinting with mischief and excitement, his son's were hardened, having grown in an entirely different environment. The smile that spread across the boy's lips wasn't that of a shared joke, but more of an invitation of saying something to set him off; this boy's smile was that of a person who had grown up fighting for his life and was prepared to do so at any time.

“You were right.” A husky voice sighed.

Jon Arryn felt what breath remained in his body leave.

Dark brown hair wild with curls that glinted with the light of the fire, pale skin that even marble couldn't imitate. Somber expression...

 _Surely... Surely Ned didn't..._ Almost as soon as the thought entered his mind, he immediately dismissed it. He would stake his life—more than he was already doing at the moment—on Ned Stark being faithful to the vow he made on his wedding night. Though the other boy held a close resemblance to the other man he considered his son, Jon Arryn was certain that he was not product of Ned. The boy walked with an elegance that none of the Stark men seem to have, not without a blade in their hands, at least. No, his frame was too slender, his cutting mauve eyes seemed otherworldly in such a way that Jon Arryn had only seen in...

 _Impossible._ He tried to dispel the thought before it could grow, but now that he had thought on it, the more it sounded like the only truth... He had to be sure. He stepped back into the shadows provided by the narrow rows of chainmail; he had not been seen as of yet and he would keep it that way until he was certain.

“What took you so long?” Gendry asked as he set aside a pair of long iron tongs in favor of seating himself atop a shabby table a few feet away from the fire. “It's nearly midday, Jon.”

Jon ducked his head and muttered something under his breath that Jon Arryn didn't quite catch.

“What?”

It seemed that Robert's bastard hadn't either.

“I said you were right about the Baker's wife.”

Just like that Gendry's face went from concerned to amusement; it was as if a switch went off in him, and all of a sudden, he had Robert's smile on his face.

“I knew it!” Gendry slammed his hand down on the table in his excitement, allowing himself a brief moment to gloat before returning his eyes to the shorter young man next to him. “Did you get out of there in time? You know your first time has already been promised by Lady Harrow.”

“I would have,” Jon hedged with a dark flush on his cheeks, and while it was awfully hot in the blacksmith's shop, the Hand of the King knew it had everything to do with the story he was telling. “Only when my hand was on the door, the Baker walked in...”

“Did he get you?” Gendry made to get up, freezing at his friend's brows which were raised high, accompanied by the smallest of smirks.

“What do you think?” The young man's hand slipped into the thin folds of his shirt and produced a rather large loaf of bread. “I pinched this little morsel as a farewell feast.” He halved it and tossed the slightly larger half to Gendry.

“Jon...”

“You need your strength more than I do. Lady Harrow is going to give me something to eat before the Lady's appointment to ensure I have enough energy.” Jon shrugged it off. “So eat your fill.”

Gendry grunted out his thanks and Jon settled back against a column close to the fire.

Robert's bastard tore into his bread as he gazed upon his friend from the corner of his eyes. “Oi, step away from there, Jon, I don't know how many times I've had to tell you...”

“Heat's never bothered me much.”

Gendry huffed. “You say that when it manages to get cold too.”

Jon flashed his friend a brief smirk as he made a point of stepping away from the fire. “Cold bothers me even less.”

Gendry was shaking his head lightly to himself. “Honestly Jon, if I hadn't known you as long as I 'ave, I would believe you to be a northerner.”

“Nope. Born and raised at Flea Bottom. Lady Harrow said that Rene found me in a pile of trash not far from the outer edge of the city. She thinks someone just rode into town to dump me before turning tail and leaving King's Landing right after.”

Jon Arryn's hand slid into the folds of his robes as he quietly slipped away. He approached the master armorer and slipped him a couple of coins. “Give the boy a day off and tell no one of my coming here unless it's the King himself.”

He waited until he received a nod from the gruff man and hastily made his way back to the castle.

He had a letter to write.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“Lord Stark, a letter from the capital.” Maester Luwin placed the letter on the edge of Ned's desk and stepped a few feet away, far enough to give the Lord of Winterfell privacy but close enough to give council should the man request it.

“Thank you.” Ned set his papers regarding the expenses of Winterfell that month in favor of opening the letter. His face, usually well guarded when he was not with his wife and children, was quickly paling the further down he read. Only when he reached the bottom, his jaw tight and hands clenched, did he glance up to meet Maester Luwin's curious gaze.

“Tell the stable boys to ready my horse and tell my wife and children to meet me outside to see me off.” He hastily climbed to his feet with a loud screech of his chair to accompany his movements.

Maester Luwin wasn't truly well versed in Ned Stark's few angry moments, but he knew better to ask after the contents of the letter. Instead he managed to ask. “And which horse will you be taking, my Lord?” It was a good way of asking Lord Stark how far he planned on going without outright asking.

“Marigold.” He muttered the name of the horse that had been Sansa's before she realized that Ladies don't often ride horses. It was a fine breed, perfect for traveling long distances.

“And how many men will accompany you?”

Lord Stark paused in the doorway. “None.”

“Lord Stark, I must protest. A single man traveling any distance is not—.”

“I will take one man, but he will remain behind when we arrive.”

“When you arrive where?” The question left his mouth before he could help it, but Maester Luwin couldn't well up enough shame over the fact.

“When we arrive at King's Landing.” Lord Stark responded gruffly. “I'm to meet with Jon Arryn. It's been long overdue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of the morning after and waiting...

Jon hated nothing more than the sticky feeling of drying sweat on his back and the thick musky scent of sex in the morning. Which, much to his chagrin, was exactly how he found himself as he woke.

He released a thick grunt and blindly reached for the washcloth that he usually left at his bedside. He fumbled with a bottle filled with scented lotion and managed to keep it upright without opening his eyes, as completely unwilling as he was to face the morning.

It was only when he felt more than heard a soft sigh against his chest did his eyes shoot open.

Jon wasn't alone, and it was only when he caught sight of the Lady he serviced the night before, her long painted nails like talons clutching near his heart, did he freeze, his calm expression quickly pinching into a small frown.

The only thing that came close to how much Jon hated the scent and feel of the aftermath of sex was when the Lady he serviced the night before continued to cling to him long after he woke. As a rule, he wasn't to shift around into a more comfortable position, not if the Lady would wake from her sleep. He couldn't grab a rag or even his own clothes which were strewn on the opposite side of his room to use to wipe away the disgusting feeling that lingered overnight.

Jon's arm throbbed ever so slightly at him to return it to it's resting position, and it was only because the Lady did not previously stir that he even dared to bring it back to his side at the edge of his bed. As soon as it returned, however, another problem make itself known to him; he muttered a curse under his breath as he struggled to keep from shifting the lower half of his body.

Jon desperately needed to take a piss.

He couldn't even relieve himself with her delicate body draped across his own, the Lady's previous night of possession somehow rearing it's head even as she slept. She was so tightly wound against him that Jon even feared to breathe deeper than shallowest of breaths.

Somewhere close to the surface of his feelings, was the desire to shove the Lady off, walk to the corner of the room where the chamber pot lie, relieve himself, and then walk out without a backward glance. But as soon as the thought was finished, Jon felt guilty. It wasn't that the Lady was ugly or unkind, she was one of his most frequent customers, the second Lady he has ever been with, and she even made it a point to slip Jon a few extra coin on the sly, but that never made it any easier.

As he stared blankly up at the ceiling, Jon tallied up how much he owed Lady Harrow, and couldn't help but sigh. At the rate he was going, and with as much as Jon avoided eating from the brothel's meals and sleeping on the bed he was assigned, it would be difficult but not impossible to pay off his debts by the time he turned eighteen. He tried to imagine the day he walked out of the brothel without any obligation to return but like his future, Jon could not picture it.

As he was one of her most popular men at the moment, Jon was sure that Lady Harrow would somehow manage to find a way to add more to what he already owed. The bastard knew that he should be outraged at the very thought, but whenever he thought of Lady Harrow and the money he owed her, he merely felt resigned. She had already tried to add more rules a few times with his sleeping arrangements. When he had first started spending his nights in Gendry's bed rather than his own, the woman had insisted that it was bad for business, that his future customers wouldn't believe that he was still a virgin if he spent all of his nights in bed with another his age, all when he was still a child in the eyes of the world. She wanted to add one silver piece for every month he spent at Gendry's, claiming that she needed to make up for the bad reputation he would have once he debuted. Jon was too young to understand then, and very nearly agreed to the terms if only to get away from the woman who once scared him sooner.

Rene, the woman Jon could easily admit came closest to being a mother to him, was his savior that day. Jon wasn't sure how she did it as he was dismissed while that conversation took place, but she had managed to get Lady Harrow to drop the ridiculous charge by the time she left that room.

It was only because of Rene that Jon didn't owe such an exuberant amount that he ended up a slave rather than merely paying back a debt. Even so, she couldn't save him from everything...

_I should spend less time at the blacksmith's and stick around these parts. The more I'm known, the more I'll be requested and I'll be able to pay Lady Harrow back sooner._ He thought, then winced as a bead of fresh sweat slowly slid down the side of his neck.

He resisted the urge to shift around so the Lady could remain asleep. If she was well rested, she'd likely give him a little extra on the side, more so than she usually did. Jon nearly flinched as she huddled closer. _Even with the heat as it is, this is worth it._ He thought to himself. _As soon as she wakes up and sees that I haven't moved, she'll believe I did it out of fondness for her._ He convinced himself with gritted teeth.

His leg was cramping up.

_Stay. Still. Bastard._

His leg began to spasm before it started to lock up. He grit his teeth against the raw feeling and before he could stop himself, he slipped his right arm away from its place at his side and squeezed at the muscles of his leg to calm the nerves. Just as it began to lay in rest, the hand that was curled against his stomach splayed out, and a low murmur escaped the Lady's lips.

“Good morning Jon.”

His muscles worked on well on their own and plastered on one of his charming smiles without him even taking the time to think on it.

Time to go to work.

“Good morning m'Lady. How are you faring?”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

As soon as he escorted the Lady out, Jon returned to his room where he _finally_ relieved his bladder before he dressed for the day. He figured he should inform Gendry on his plans of keeping close to the brothel in the future, as he hardly ever missed a day at the blacksmith's. He found that he couldn't imagine how it would go over with his gruff friend.

He hastily tidied his room before leaving, making sure to lock his door, before he strode out of the brothel, the mid-morning sun shining bright in his face. He winced away from the unwelcome sight as he made his way towards the Street of Steel, his thoughts once again going to his best friend.

While Gendry seemed to distance himself from a great many people in his life, Jon certainly wasn't one of them; they've never had much reason to go without seeing one another for days, even on the rare occasions when they fought. Jon would disappear in a huff while Gendry would throw himself into his work, and come the end of the day, they'd both be too tired or bored without the other to keep the argument going.

Now they were to be separated without even fighting.

_It was bound to happen eventually._ Jon thought with a huff as he stepped aside to allow a couple of patrolling knights to pass. _Gendry with his profession and me with... mine._ Jon huffed out a sigh. His profession wasn't something that he was particularly proud of, but he knew nothing else. He couldn't picture himself swinging an anvil throughout the rest of his days as Gendry was meant to, despite how comfortable Jon was with helping out when he could.

He _knows_ that he isn't meant to whore himself for the rest of his days; he _knows_ that he is meant for greater things than being a comfort boy... he just doesn't know what it is at the moment. Jon shook the thoughts from his head as soon as he turned down the Street of Steel; it wouldn't do for him to get so lost in them that he tripped over something expensive that he'd never be able to pay for.

Jon slipped through a narrow alleyway that led to the back of the forge, knowing well that Gendry's master Mott wouldn't take too kindly of _the whore_ walking through his front doors in plain view of the whole city. As soon as he cracked the door open, the heat rushed out in welcome and Jon was reminded that for all the heated mornings with his clients, he'd easily choose the hottest day in the forge to it.

_Stop._ He gnashed his teeth together as he was yet again forced to remind himself to forget what he could not control. He shoved the door open and in his haste, he nearly caught sight of the old man who tended to watch them at least once a week, but the sudden entrance caused the elder to slip back into the shadows of the chain mail where he tended to stay most of the time.

After seeing him so often, there was very little left in Jon that was still curious about the old man's intentions, but even so, as he approached Gendry he voiced the words that had become a custom over the past few weeks. “So has he said anything?” His voice was soft, nearly lost in the loud clanging of Gendry's hammer as he flattened the metal.

Gendry's bright blue eyes, appearing all the more brighter with the dirt that clung to the boy's face, flickered away from his work for the briefest of moments before returning with a slight shake of his head. “I don't suppose he'll ever speak if he can help it.”

Jon moved to a nearby bench and sunk into it, knowing to keep out of Gendry's way when he made the metal sing. “Do you suppose he's your Lord Father, thinking of legitimizing you?”

Gendry snorted. “Not hardly. He's followed you through the market as well.” The slightly younger bastard glanced over his shoulders towards the shadows. “For a couple of days, I thought he was a pervert, stalking you because he wanted you or something of the like, that's until I noticed him looking at me too.”

Jon chuckled lowly, his grin growing when Gendry met his gaze with raised brows. “He could still be a pervert... Just not one with good taste.”

“Oi!” Gendry growled and snatched something off the side of a hanging pouch, shucking a dirty cloth towards Jon with very little anger behind it.

Jon smirked and stealthily glanced over his shoulder. “Oh? Looks like the secretive Lord has returned to his keep a little early. Was he here long before I came?”

Gendry pulled his hands a safe distance away from the fire before he half turned towards the chainmail. “Not much.” He shook his head briefly. “Doesn't matter either way. He hasn't deemed it necessary to talk to us as of yet and I don't think he shall be changing his mind anytime soon. Let the old man keep his secrets, Jon.”

“They are only secrets if there is a motive to do so, Gendry.” Jon replied as he folded his arms across his chest. “That aside, there's something I that I need to tell you...”

0-0-0-0-0-0

Jon Arryn lingered near the outskirts of King's Landing, his weary eyes split between the gates and his back, keeping watch to see if any spies of the court had seen fit to follow the Hand this far out of their way. He made sure to station himself close to a food cart. While the customers could be of any social stature, it would be fairly obvious if they lingered any longer than necessary to keep him in their sights.

It had been a couple of weeks since he's wrote to the Lord of Winterfell, and knowing Ned, he'd ride hard and fast at the vaguest hint that Jon Arryn had supplied. As he was expecting the strong-willed Stark's arrival any day now, Jon Arryn had decided to watch the front gates at a certain time, and it was only the sudden arrival of the young Jon that he had noticed the passage of time.

It was quite easy to lose track of time in the back of the forge. The only window was to the back of the shop, where the buildings were so close that very little light filtered through. That, and just watching Gendry manipulate the steel to his desire... It was a wonder to see and made Jon Arryn wonder if Robert would have had a similar skill with the fire if he had tried his hand at it when he was younger.

_There_. He cocked his head to the side and deliberately made eye contact with the young man who had been lingering near the food cart to his far right. The man blanched before hastilly turning and making conversation with the vendor. The man had no beard, but he wore his hair like a northern man, long and with no regard to the heat. Men of the south tended to keep their hair short or tied back what with the constant heat of the south. The man that had been lingering by the food cart seemed hot but unwilling to push his hair from his face.

Jon Arryn glided over with ease as the man's attention was turned to the vendor and stopped a few scant inches away. “Isn't it a bit hot for such a hairstyle, young man?”

The young man turned away from his conversation with the owner of the cart and turned towards the Hand.

“Lord Arryn.”

The Hand briefly stiffened at the sudden presence at his back before he spun around and set his gaze upon the interloper. All breath left his body, it seemed, for he could not for the life of him dredge up a single word. After what seemed like centuries, his mouth moved of its own volition and formed a single name he has yet to utter aloud in years. “Ned.”

“Lord Arryn.” The Lord of Winterfell inclined his head briefly, his eyes hard. “It seems we have much to talk about, you and I.”

All too sudden, a great weight rested itself on Jon Arryn's weathered shoulders and he found that he could only nod along. “That we do, my boy. That we do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expected this chapter to be longer but a few things came up and well.... blerghhhh!
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading!


	6. The Price We Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned speaks with Jon Arryn.

Jory shouldered the door open and immediately set about searching for potentially hidden enemies. His pace was brisk and his investigations thorough, already edging towards the rotting doors of the balcony before Ned and Lord Arryn even crossed over the threshold.

Ned paid the young man no mind as he strode over to the other side of the room where a pair of chairs which were perhaps once fine but now left much to be desired. Nevertheless, Ned sank into the one closest to the door while Lord Arryn followed at a much slower pace.

Ned waited for the Lord of the Eyrie to be seated before he turned his expectant gaze upon the man. Still, after a few long moments, Lord Arryn remained silent. Sweat beat at his brows yet when his eyes twitched in irritation, it was not from the heat of the South. Ned rubbed a calloused hand against his jaw in an attempt to remain patient.

Jory continued to poke about the room.

“Lord Arryn,” Ned bit out finally, “You sent me a letter not a month past with concerning news. Please put me out of my misery and explain it as best you can now that we are in private.”

Lord Arryn's wizened eyes fell on his pupil and softened ever so slightly. He waved Ned's comment aside. “No need to be so formal with me, Ned. We have spent far too much time together to fall back on shallow formalities.”

No sooner than the words left the old man's mouth did Ned's hand slam down on the weakened arm rest of the chair. “Then I urge you to explain what you meant by the existence of my sister's son! Lyanna died of fever, Robert's men told me themselves! When we rode to collect her remains, there were no signs of children having been there, Lord Arryn, you were there as well!”

“And yet these old eyes of mine have happened upon what seems to be reincarnation of you and Robert as the boys you once were. Only instead of learning the ways of honor and the sword, one is the apprentice of a blacksmith while the other is forced to return every night to a pleasure house, whoring his way out of debt.”

“Robert and I?”

Lord Arryn nodded, a grave expression on his face. “Robert is perhaps the only reason I happened to see the boys as they were.” He paused, his eyes briefly becoming distant. “...For reasons I shall not share this visit, no, it will perhaps complicate things if you were to know as well...” He trailed off, speaking more to himself than his former pupil.

Ned allowed the old man a long moment before prodding once more. “Lord Arryn..?”

The older man shook himself out of whatever state he had fell under and plastered a smile on his face. “Oh, sorry my boy. I'm not nearly as young as I once was. Where was I? Oh yes, Robert's bastard son.” Lord Arryn pulled his robes closer to his body as he resolutely met the Lord of the North's eyes. “I shan't explain why I was seeking Gendry, Robert's bastard, out, but while I was there, I happened upon the most interesting view. I had entered the forge you see, and as soon as I saw the boy, there was no questioning his parentage. He is Robert reborn, Ned.” He chuckled. “Even his glare is very nearly the same! That aside, as I was preparing to approach the boy and ask him a few questions, I heard a young man call out to him.”

Lord Arryn leaned forward so swiftly that Ned feared that he was falling from his chair for a brief moment. He mirrored the old man's movements and found himself eye to eye with the man who raised him and Robert as brothers.

“But then _he_ walked in.” Jon Arryn shook his head with a wry smile. “For the briefest moment, I feared that I had died and was revisiting one of my fondest moments with you and Robert. But the heat of the forge made it nigh impossible to believe you are anything but alive. So I watched as a the young man walked in like he has been there a thousand times before and as soon as I remembered I was in fact amongst the living, my second thought was that perhaps Robert wasn't the only man I raised that produced a bastard while seizing the throne. I immediately ruled it out.” Lord Arryn hastily added when he caught sight of the look Ned sent him. “Then I thought perhaps, he was one of Brandon's, but the age is all wrong, the idea was dismissed as soon as it came to mind. That only leaves one possibility...”

“Lyanna.” Ned breathed.

“Aye. Your sister.” Lord Arryn sighed. “He is of the correct age and he possesses the Stark look through and through.”

“I have a nephew.” Ned looked thunderstruck. “I have a nephew and he has been living in Flea Bottom for his whole life. Oh Lyanna... How you would hate me if you ever found out that I left your son to such a life...”

“You couldn't have known.” Lord Arryn admonished lightly.

“I should have.” Ned bit out. “If I had gone to the Tower as I had originally planned, then I would have been there to find my nephew on my own. He would not have had to grow up alone as a wolf in the south.” Ned huffed out a heavy breath before inhaling sharply, his eyes quickly snapping to his father figure. “You mentioned that my nephew is in debt to a whore house?! Where is this place? Who runs it? Where would he be at this time of the day?”

Lord Arryn sighed. “You cannot do a thing, Ned. King's Landing is full of spies. That is the reason for all this discretion. You have a very unique face and it won't take long for word to spread of you meeting with a young boy whose face looks so much like your own.”

Ned's face paled briefly. “Surely Robert wouldn't kill the son of Lyanna? He adored her.”

“He did.” Arryn assented. “But the boy is also the son of Rhaegar. Half Targaryen. I don't suppose I need to remind you what Robert allowed the Lannister men do to the children that remained on that horrible night?”

Ned's jaw clenched. “You don't.” Of all things Ned has done in his life, his inability to stop the children and other innocents from dying is what he regrets most. “But surely I could have convinced him to allow me to take the boy with me to the North.”

“You and I both know that he was mad with grief at the time. I'm not entirely certain that Robert wouldn't have tried to kill you at the mere suggestion.” Lord Arryn shook his head with a brief pang of grief. “That aside, that wasn't what I meant about being seen with your nephew now. Everyone who knows your name, Ned, also knows of your absolute honor. Were they to see you in King's Landing nearly fourteen years since you've left with a boy who is the very image of Stark heritage, word will quickly spread that perhaps you aren't as honorable as you seem to be.”

“What use is honor if I allow my sister's son to remain in prostitution when I have the power and resources to pull him away from such a life?”

“You would be willing to put your Lady wife through this? Surely she will have something to say of this sudden rumor.”

Ned's head snapped up. “I'll tell Cat the truth. I love her and trust her implicitly. She won't share the truth with another living soul.”

“And her reputation? She won't thank you for marring her in the eyes of everyone who hears the tales of you and your long lost bastard.”

Ned's jaw clenched. “I'll send her a letter and keep the boy a secret for as long as I manage. I will find him this evening, straighten things out with his mistress and we will take our leave of this city before the day breaks.”

He climbed to his feet and made to cross the room, thought about it, and turned back to Lord Arryn. “The boy, Lyanna's son. What's his name?”

The Lord of the Eyrie grinned suddenly and couldn't keep from chuckling as he met the younger Lord's eyes. “His name is Jon.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“A man?!” Jon snatched his arm away from Rene's as he hastily leaped out of the tub, all sense of modesty having left him years ago. No, he cared not that his nakedness was in full view of the woman who practically raised him, but it was her words that forced his feet to move towards the opposite end of the room. “Is that why Lady Harrow told you to come in here to help me bathe? To ensure that I'm as clean as can be?!”

“Jon... You knew that it would happen one day.” Rene's brows drew together, not in anger but in sympathy for the boy. “Lady Harrow has even ensured that he wouldn't do anything out of the ordinary when he takes you tonight. She made him swear—.”

“I don't care about that!” Jon snatched his small clothes off of the back of the chair closest to his bed. “When you confronted her about starting me off earlier than we had originally agreed on, she swore that she would not force a man on me _before_ my fourteenth name day. I still have three days!”

Rene sighed and moved away from the tub. “Jon, you know as well as I that she charges nearly double for men to lay with men. If you have more male customers then—.”

“Then I'll become so used to being filled that nothing else will satisfy me.” Jon growled. “I've talked to Lorren and he said that after being with so many men, he prefers it to laying with women. I don't want to become _conditioned_ to liking something rather liking it for myself from the start!”

“You have to experience it once before deciding that you don't want it.” She murmured with distant eyes.

Jon shifted as he started to pull on his trousers, keeping a close eye on her as if she would drag him to bed with the man herself. “I'll not sleep with him, Rene. I... I understand that it is inevitable in our line of work, but I can't... not yet.”

Rene chewed on her lower lip, and studied the young man's expression for a long moment, studying his expression for something that Jon himself couldn't admit to being privy to. Whatever it was, perhaps she found it, for her next words nearly had him over the moon with joy. “Very well. I'll talk the Lady Harrow into postponing this meeting until after your name day passes. But there will be no stopping her after this, you realize this don't you?” Her large brown eyes were kind but firm as they locked onto Jon's. “You'll be considered a man in most places in Westeros. She'll be able to give you to anyone and you'll have to follow any of their demands as long as they're willing to pay for it.”

Jon willed himself not to think on what such a warning promised for his future and forced the thoughts away as he gnashed his teeth together. “Yes. I understand.” He nodded and even managed a smile for her. “Thank you, Rene.”

Her answering smile was small if not a bit strained, but no less warm than the smiles she usually gave him. She dried her hands on the towel that was originally meant for him before taking her leave of the room.

Jon waited until her could no longer hear her steps outside the door before he threw himself onto the chair that was seated next to the window. He curled into the chair as best as he could; it wasn't nearly as comfortable as it had once been when he was a child as his long lanky limbs practically spilled over the edges, but he managed it and tucked his head into the crook of his arm to keep the smell of the city at bay.

He was lucky. He knew that. He was reminded of that every time he and the Lady Harrow had a dispute. That she pulled him out of the garbage as a babe and out of the kindness of her heart took him in and fed him when he was too young to fend for himself. He nearly snorted aloud at the thought. There were days when he wondered if it wouldn't be better if he had just starved in the trash.

_You're an idiot, Jon._ Gendry's voice in his thoughts was irate and not without cause. Jon straightened and shook the dark thoughts from his head. No use in thinking of what isn't and better to focus on what is. Fact one: he _is_ a whore. Fact two: he _did_ survive, and now he had to do what it takes to survive in the harsh world of Flea Bottom. _This is the hand you were dealt, Jon._ Gendry's voice again. _You've got to learn how to play or you'll end up a beggar with all that you'll owe others._

The young man sighed and reluctantly climbed to his feet. He'd have to ask Lady Harrow if she'd have anyone else set for him for that night. If not, he'd take off to Gendry's for the night. With that in mind, he quickly pulled the rest of his clothes on and quickly slipped from his room and down the stairs to dodge many of the other whores and customers that littered the main room. He caught sight of the flame-like hair of the Lady Harrow out of the corner of his eye and changed directions, working his way over. It wasn't until he noted a tall, cloaked dark haired man that he realized that she was most likely dealing with the customer that had requested him.

His feet stilled before he could even conjure the thought in his mind and he was left standing in the middle of the room, frozen at the sight of the man who had meant to take him that evening.

As if he felt his gaze, the man abruptly turned, his hood shifting just long enough for Jon to see...

The man was surprisingly young and not at all like the lecherous men who seemed to prefer the comforts a male prostitute had to offer, but either way, Jon was having none of it.

Without waiting to see Lady Harrow's reaction, Jon spun on his heel and quickly strode out of the establishment. _I'll go to Gendry's. He'll understand, even though I told him he'd have his bed to himself this night._ Jon frowned and quickly weaved his way through the drunken throngs of men and prostitutes alike. He'd have to enter the tavern through the back alley if he planned on getting to Gendry's before the other boy had passed out for the day. Gods knew that he was a grump if Jon woke him up in the middle of sleep.

Jon ducked into a nearby alley as he had done thousands of times before with no regards to his surroundings. He'd not be robbed, not in the rags he was currently wearing. The nice clothes were only for when he was actually entertaining one of Lady Harrow's guests. Even so, he didn't linger. He ignored the men in the darkest corners selling illegal substances. He ignored the men who tossed dice and bet on things other than money. He even ignored the cheaper whores who pleasured their men in the open and continued on with determination.

Until he was seized from behind and practically lifted off of the ground by the back of his collar.

Jon lashed out with his elbows and legs as Gendry had warned him to, and though his elbows were somehow dodged, his feet slammed into the man's knee enough for his grip to falter somewhat—unfortunately it was not nearly enough for Jon to wiggle out and escape.

Jon cocked his head to the side far enough to catch sight of the man who had been talking with the Lady Harrow just minutes before and felt ice flood his veins. _He followed me? Surely he won't..._ He thrashed again at the mere idea of being raped in this dirty alley way and kicked back once again, even harder than before.

The young man grunted out in pain briefly before heaving a heavy breath close to Jon's ear. “Gods above, my Lord, please help me. This one is feisty.”

The approaching sounds of footsteps didn't cause Jon to pause. If anything, the mere mention of there being two men who meant to use him nearly caused him to yelp out in fear. However, Jon was no fool. This was Flea Bottom. Pleas for help would only draw more hungry dogs to the fold and not the help he called for. No, he'd have to take it silently or to fight for his life.

It wasn't really a question of which he'd choose. He made to twist to better kick his captor, only a deeper, commanding voice called out in the darkness.

“Drop him Jory. Can't you see the lad is scared out of his wits?”

“My Lord, if I drop him, he may run off as he has just done not long ago.”

“Let him down.” The voice was closer, just over Jon's shoulder. There would be no chance for escape.

He was dropped to his feet and was only just righting himself when he heard the sharp intake of breath a few feet off.

“Gods... Lyanna. He takes after you.”

Jon didn't hear any woman reply to the man's remark and couldn't help but look up in curiosity. His eyes widened and his mouth dried before any words managed to escape, for standing before him was the very image of what he would surely look like when he grew older.

“Jon.” The man's eyes were wet around the edges for some reason unknown. “I'm here to take you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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